Six Hundred Years
by e1nav57
Summary: And he became thankful for the ripples in the still waters of his memory, aka Legolas and Tauriel's first meeting. One shot.


**Disclaimer** : Middle Earth and all it's characters (minus the others introduced by Sir PJ) belong to Sir Tolkein. OCs are mine.

Note: Why I wrote this? 1. I wanted to write about Legolas' and Tauriel's first meeting, canon style (at least, according to Lilly's interview); 2. MAJOR Writer's block for Tales of Mirkwood, I was hoping writing would help; 3. I owe so much to the people who had been waiting for TOM, and I hope this makes it up even just a teensy bit. I don't want to rant too long, so more of my thoughts would be found in my profile (especially if you have any questions about this)

Without further ado, enjoy! Please please don't be too mean. I haven't written in months and I'm still trying to find my way back to FF :p

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 **SIX HUNDRED YEARS**

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Legolas knew that the men were envious of his kin's long lives. Day after day, the poor race strived to look for remedies to cure their fatal and inevitable disease of old age. Yet their desperate attempts were not unreasonable. His long life had aided much. He had infinite more opportunities to train in the art of the bow, or read about the older days of Middle Earth. His life had taught him how to listen to the voice of the earth and the trees and the wind, and it had taught him how to respond to them.

Yet it also had its flaws. It was the elves that had to suffer the burden of watching the evil spread, had to carry the weight of responsibility and expectation placed upon those deemed to know the secrets of life, had to know the true choices to make, because it was them that had studied nature the most. But the worst, for the young prince, was how the endless passing days blurred from one to the other, until he could not recognize each individually. Sometimes, when remembering details, he could not pinpoint whether it had occurred a decade or a century or a year ago.

And so he became thankful for the ripples in the still waters of his memory. For the distinct incidents and the irreplaceable adventures that he could so easily remember in detail. One particular memory seemed to be clearer than the rest, one that happened a little less than six hundred years ago.

It was a cool summer afternoon. The clouds pacified the intolerable heat the sun seemed intent on showering them with.

"Welcome," said Eloen, the guard on post. He ushered them inside the gate. "What news?" he asked, the furrowing in his brows a clear sign of his worry.

"They had escaped when we arrived, many hours before. And their traces lead to outside the forest. We did not see it sensible to follow," Legolas replied, as he led the way to the King's Quarters. His father would expect him to report immediately.

"And the elves? Did you see more of them?" the guard's voice rose with anticipation.

Legolas stopped. This time, it was he who gazed at the guard quizzically.

Glines, a she-elf in their group, spoke. "What do you speak of? We did not see any elves."

Eloen shifted uncomfortably. "Aegnir and the others... the other troup the king sent out... they reported of a wreckage in the east, and bodies of elves, dead within their camp."

Legolas' companions murmured anguished remarks. "How many were there?" Glines asked, in a panicked tone.

"Seven,"Eloen bowed his head sadly.

Legolas shook his head in dismay. "They must have been over numbered. We saw multiple packs of orc tracks, and wargs, as well."

"But there is another rumor, _ernil-nin_ ," Eloen added.

Legolas' eyes narrowed at him. It seemed that so much had already happened in the span of a few hours. How could there be more? "What?"

"There is a young elf, they said. Alive."

"Alive? How?" Glines' eyes were wide.

"They said they found him far from the camp, his skin white as ash, and voice muted. He must have run from the attack," Eloen said, his voice suddenly hushed.

"It is a blessing one as young as he was able to escape," another elf in his group commented.

Others murmured in agreement.

"Thank you for the news," Legolas nodded in appreciation. "We must go to the King. Our report might help in shedding light to this dark story."

"Of course," Eloen bowed, and he turned back to the gates.

Legolas and his companions continued quickly to the halls of the king, their minds endowned with more questions about the young elf and dark happenings. Eloen was a friend, but rumors were fickle stories, and events were oftentimes exaggerated for the benefit of mere entertainment. Could the elves' murders be really true, and if they were, what was to happen to the child?

There were so many questions, yet the one hope Legolas had of answering them, was absent from his own throne room. "Where is the King?" he turned to ask the guards by the door.

"He left before _, ernil_. Along with the young child," one answered.

"So what we heard about the child is true?" Legolas asked.

"Yes, _ernil-nin_. A young she-elf. But she could not, or would not, speak," the other guard answered.

Legolas nodded as the story cleared in his mind, Eloen had spoken as if the child had been male. "Where have they gone?" he asked.

"The king did not say."

"Very well," Legolas turned to the group behind him. "We will report to the King later today. Find rest first, _mellonin_. I will call for you when it is time."

They nodded in farewell and, one by one, disappeared out the door. Soon, only Glines stood before him. "I want to see this child," she said, the edges of her lips bended to form a worried frown.

Legolas nodded. "Should we check the healing room?"

"Yes," Glines agreed, then left to lead the way.

Yet they did not find the King and the young elf at the healing room, or in the other parts of the castle. It did not take long before Glines parted ways with him, exhaustion taking the best of her. Legolas knew he would not find the King, as well, but he did not go to rest either.

He went to the eastern gates, towards the hidden field, far from the reach of the forest. The sun was setting and the golden stream of its rays turned everything around him into a shade of yellow. He pulled the sword from his back, and it shone as it reflected the light. He swung the blade, and it whistled in the still air. It was wide and heavy, its faded golden handle served as testament to its age.

The sky slowly turned darker, yet his sword continued its song.

Soon, the night covered him like a blanket. It was then that a sound other than his sword met his ears. It was the sound of grass folding and kissing the soil, and of small footsteps walking closer to him. He turned in alert, still swinging the blade before him.

The first he noticed was her red hair. If he had seen her only minutes before, he was sure it would have shone in the sun. Then, he noticed her eyes. They were green, and strangely unsettling. For one so young, they gazed at him with such knowing and intensity that he hastened to lower his sword. She was garbed in the usual green robes of his people, but it was new and clean, as if she had just worn them hours ago.

He replaced the sword to his waist, and knelt.

Their eyes met, and he returned her gaze worriedly. "What are you doing here, _hen_? Where is the king?"

She did not answer. Instead, she lowered her gaze, as if scared.

"Will you speak to me?" he continued, his heart reached out to the she-elf, wondering how one so young could have lost so much already.

She still did not answer, but he saw how the green orb of her eyes shifted quickly to the blade on his waist.

"Ah, it is beautiful, is it not?" he smiled gently. The scratching noise was loud as he pulled it out of the scabbard. The sun had completely retired, but they could still see the blade clearly. "It is heavy for a sword," he said, noting how her eyes widened in curiosity. He swung it lightly and she stepped observantly to the side. "But that is because it is not made by our kin. We found it at the banks of the river beside the human town, Esgaroth. And the armorer requested I test it, to see what improvements could be made," he explained.

He looked back at her. She was still watching him raptly, yet silence persisted to be her only reply. He kept the sword again and knelt back to the ground. "What about you, young one? What stories do you keep?" He waited, and then smiled sadly as he looked away. "You do not have to tell me now, but I hope someday you would trust me enough to allow me to hear the sound of your voice."

The castle loomed at their side, small and hidden beneath the mountains and trees. "You will have to live a new life now, one that may be far from what you know. But you will not be alone, and I think that is the greatest gift we can give you," he glanced at her once more, before rising. "We should go in, the—,"

"Will you teach me?" The voice was soft. It was barely more than a whisper, but Legolas heard every word as if they had been shouted to him. Her voice was broken and weak, but certain. And her eyes screamed the same determination. "Not the sword," she shook her head quickly. She glanced at his back. "But... the...the one at your back."

Legolas' hand flew to his back, and his fingers touched the familiar wood of his bow. It was strange to imagine such a young one handling a bow, but he knew she would not forgive him should he refuse her. He lowered his hand, and gave her a nod. "Not today, perhaps. But yes, I will teach you, when the time is right. I give you that promise," he said.

And that was when her eyes changed with a new and determined light. It was only a ghost of happiness, but it transformed her greatly. The green of her eyes melted softly into warmth, and her youth was not as clear to him as it did then. "Thank you."

"I see you that found her," a voice came from the path of the castle.

Legolas saw the King walking towards them. He had been too transfixed of the fact that the child had spoken that he had not even noticed his father approaching them. "Yes, _ada_ ," he bowed as Thranduil neared.

The child whipped to face the King, and Thranduil in turn turned his attention to her. Legolas stared, surprised. It was rare to see his father show any emotion, but rarer still to see him smile. And although the King was not smiling now, Legolas could see the tiniest traces of joy on the corner of his father's lips. "You should not go running off with no warning," the smile only grew as he talked. Legolas could not remember the last time he had seen his father smile, but he recalled that his father did not smile simply. And only for those who he harbored in his heart.

The young she-elf walked towards him in reply. "Sorry," she whispered softly and hurriedly.

The absence of surprise on the king's face told him that he had heard her speak to him earlier. "And I am glad you have finally decided to speak," Thranduil continued. Then he asked, softly, "What is your name, _tinu nin_?"

The child did not answer, but held to the hem of his robes as she turned to meet Legolas' eyes. He did not understand at first, but Legolas knew when he saw her questioning stare that she was also waiting for an answer from him. "I..." the prince hesitated, but her green eyes heartened him on. He gazed for a moment at the forest hidden there, framed by the sky of her red hair. He gazed at the leaves that had found their way to her clothes, even as the wind fought to let them fall. And it became clear. "Tauriel," he said, and his father looked at him. "Her name is Tauriel," Legolas said.

Thranduil nodded.

And then she smiled.

 **END**

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 _mellonin_ : my friends

 _ernil_ : prince

 _hen_ : child

 _ada_ : father

 _tinu nin_ : my daughter


End file.
